


how used to solitude we've grown

by essektheylyss (midnightindigo)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightindigo/pseuds/essektheylyss
Summary: Caleb receives a letter, inviting him to open a school. He is uncertain how to answer.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord & Caleb Widogast, Fjord & Essek Thelyss
Comments: 10
Kudos: 117





	how used to solitude we've grown

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago, forgot about it, found it last week, and then was validated by teacher!Caleb mode activated this episode, so enjoy!
> 
> This was just an excuse for some soft shadowgast and Fjord friendship.

The library is dim in the height of the afternoon, curtains shut against all but the faintest sun, but an ounce of the summer heat still hangs in the air, and it settles in his ears like the fog that will consume the Menagerie Coast once night falls. 

Soon enough it will be monsoon season, and thunderheads will allow him to throw open the curtains and embrace what thin light struggles through the downpour, but for now he is content to spend his afternoons with his head resting on his partner's thigh, stretched out across the worn leather sofa that holds their shape. 

This afternoon, gentle fingers work through his hair as Caleb reads through his mail—he receives letters far more often than Essek does, as he is more inclined to respond to what he receives. Essek has never been one for correspondence, but sometimes Caleb reads letters from their friends aloud for him to hear, and both of them sign their names on whatever they answer.

Today it's mostly business related, some of it research from various institutions, some of it pleas for assistance from those who have heard that a member of the infamous Mighty Nein lives outside of Nicodranas. 

It's hard to focus on anything when it gets this warm—he isn't used to it, isn't built for the early summer weather of the Coast. So he lets Caleb read through them, trusting that anything that might be relevant to him—or his interests—will be brought to his attention.

But it's warm and he's comfortable with one hand on Caleb's knee and the other resting in Frumpkin's fur where the cat purrs beside him, so maybe it can be brought to his attention tomorrow.

Paper shuffles, the rip of another envelope, and a moment later Caleb freezes, his hand in Essek's hair frozen with him, and Essek waits for a long moment before he opens his eyes and peers up at him.

The tight wrinkles around Caleb's mouth are reminiscent of old worries and his eyes are caught by something in the letter in his hand. 

It's writing that Essek recognizes—Allura Vysoren, with whom they correspond every so often. Though they keep in touch with plenty of mages around Exandria, she is one of the few that both of them hold in high esteem, and that something she's written has brought Caleb to such a screeching mental halt is concerning, to say the least.

He pushes himself up to lean against Caleb's bent knee and waits. If it's important, Caleb will tell him on his own time, and it takes several long moment, wherein Caleb's lips start moving as if he's breathing the words, and finally he offers flatly, "Allura wrote to suggest that I start a school."

Essek blinks, taking Caleb's free hand in his own and absently running his fingers along the worn skin of his palms. Though his eyes do not leave the letter, reading and rereading the neat writing, his shoulders drop as the tension fades a little. Finally, he finds Essek's eyes, and there is a fear there that Essek hasn't seen in a long time.

"Why would she ask me?"

If the furrow between Caleb's brows wasn't so pronounced at the moment, Essek might've laughed. Instead, he offers a hand and takes the letter, skimming what Caleb has been staring at. Phrases like "combat nationalism and isolation among impressionable students of the arcane," "foster international cooperation," and "free sharing of ideas," jump out at him, along with his own name at the end of the largest paragraph: " _Perhaps Essek can set up a dunamantic track as well—though I admit the Dynasty's reluctance to allow that magic beyond its borders is mystifying to the Pansophical, so if that would be unsafe or unwise for either of you, I understand completely_."

Essek exhales slowly before he answers. "Because this is the culmination of what you've spent a very long time working to accomplish."

Caleb stares at him, pressing his fingers to his lips in thought. Frumpkin pads up his leg and curls up on his hip, rumbling lowly. "I don't think I am prepared for this kind of responsibility."

"Caleb," Essek hisses endearingly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "You are perhaps more qualified than any other mage in Exandria."

"Allura is more powerful than I am, and she is a member of the Pansophical." Caleb sounds like he's trying to reason his way out of this, and Essek can already see him deflecting any suggestion of his competency, but he vows to try anyway. He has always been harder on himself and his abilities than Essek has, and they balance each other out in that way. "Why would the Pansophical not build such a school themselves?"

"Because you have seen both sides of this," Essek answers, setting down the piece of parchment to press both hands to Caleb's jaw. Caleb closes his eyes and leans into his grasp, pressing his own hand to Essek's fingers. "You know as well as I do the dangers of growing and learning in such a... restricted environment. You know, well, far better than I the methods with which these things must be taught to combat these dangers. You have said yourself that you would've liked to be a teacher, had things been different."

"Yes, but things are as they are. And this would not be teaching—the headmaster—"

"I am certain you can find a way to manage both," Essek says. "The headmasters of the Empire institutions have always taught as well, yes?"

Caleb turns his head and presses a kiss to his palm, his eyes still closed. "I will... consider the proposition."

"Good."

"And you? If I agree to the Pansophical's request? Will you assist me in this endeavor?"

The question was inevitable, of course, but Essek swallows against the idea. Still, it is tempting, and he chuckles to himself as the true implications of the meaning set in—Allura wouldn't know, of course, but Caleb does, and indeed there's a hint of mirth in his blue eyes. "What are a few more state secrets, hmm?"

—

After several hasty letters back and forth, they find themselves on the doorstep of a large building. It looks like it might have been imposing, once, with it's harsh, dark architecture and looming disposition, but now ivy climbs the sides of it and the windows are wide open even though it's drizzling, the sounds of squealing children emanating to the street below. 

Essek pulls his cloak tightly around himself against the rain, the clouds a foreboding mass threatening to turn to a proper storm, and sighs as the sounds of the orphanage greet his ears. "Perhaps I was too hasty in agreeing to any profession that involves children."

With a smirk, Caleb rings the doorbell of the Driftwood Asylum, its insignia on the door. A clamoring noise sounds from inside, running feet along hallways and inside the foyer, and a discordant array of voices. "Mr. Fjord! Mr. Fjord, I think it's for you!"—followed by the gentle, low rumble of Fjord's voice far enough inside that they can't make out the words. It takes several minutes before the door swings open, and Fjord greets them, a few more patches of grey in his hair than when they'd last seen him, but with a wide smile all the same. A child of about seven hangs on his back, while he scoops a toddler off the floor to stop her gnawing on the toe of his boot.

"Hello, come in, come in!" He ushers them through the doorway, and the little boy on his back follows Essek's hovering movements. Essek returns the stare until the boy drops his gaze and hops down, scurrying down a corridor.

Caleb's fingers find his wrist below his cloak and squeeze, and he quirks an eyebrow at Essek. "Is that necessary?" he murmurs.

"Necessary? No," Essek shoots back with a crooked smile. "But it is amusing."

There are other children in the halls, peering curiously around corners at their headmaster's guests, ducking away when the wizards glance back. Fjord chuckles as he pushes the door to his study open, the toddler still in his arms, slobbering on the edge of his sleeve. On a closer glance, she is likely younger than Essek had guessed, but then he has never been around human children. The door closes behind Caleb with a small click of the doorknob, but Fjord doesn't lock the brass handle before he takes a seat in a rickety chair and offers a small chaise to them.

"Would you be so kind as to assist me with some sewing while we talk?" he asks, the girl chirping happily on his knee, and picks a pile of fabric up from an otherwise organized desk. Even the clothes are folded nicely and stacked nicely, and he offers it to them both.

"Wouldn't that be far faster with magic?" Essek asks, eyeing the mending pile distastefully after Caleb takes an item, and Fjord withdraws it, then deposits the child in Essek's lap. The little girl peers up at him with wide eyes as he holds her under the arms, uneasy. 

"Sure, but it won't hold up," Fjord says, and picks out the next item in the pile. "Entertain her for me instead, then, thank you."

Caleb's head is bowed as he starts on the torn trousers, but Essek can almost feel his twisted grin. He settles the child on his lap, careful to keep her mouth away from his clothing.

"So, Allura wants you to open a school," Fjord says, around several pins in his mouth, and it is still a thing of wonder to watch him so casually manipulate his voice even when speaking around sharp objects. "I think that's a fantastic idea."

"That is very kind to say," Caleb begins, and Essek elbows him gently before he can fall too far into his usual self-deprecation. "I am merely uneasy about, ah—"

He trails off, and Fjord barely entertains his concern. "It's a good idea, Caleb. You told me a long time ago that you fancied yourself a teacher, and I think you'd be good at it."

"In another life, ja," Caleb mutters, and Essek resists the urge to elbow him again. The child on his lap squirms, and it's enough to keep her from toppling over onto the worn hardwood without making it harder for himself. 

"Fjord, perhaps you can convince my lovely partner that he is more than capable of running a school."

"I don't know the first thing about organizing that kind of institution," Caleb protests. 

"Yes, and I'm sure the Arcana Pansophical, who have kindly offered to accompany you on the board of such an institution, would be no help whatsoever."

Fjord sets the last of the pins from the pair of trousers on his lap onto his desk, and sets the neatly sewn pants into a basket at his feet, tough fingers used to the delicate work. He reaches for the baby, who whines in Essek's hands, and Essek gladly passes her over. Fjord settles her in his arms easily, as though this is second nature, and he's been the headmaster of this place long enough that it probably is. 

Essek's just thinking that at least teenagers aren't as much of a handful as the child in Fjord's lap when a scuffle of limbs knocks into the door. Caleb conjures a spectral hand that pulls it open with barely a second thought, and a gaggle of adolescents splays forward into the room. Fjord surveys them with a fondness that Essek has only seen him reserve for other members of the Nein.

"You know, if you wanted to come in, you could've knocked," he says, and the teenagers quickly scramble to their feet and stand in a row. 

"Well it's not as fun when you ask permission," one of them retorts, and Essek can't help but laugh. All of their eyes shoot to him, and he meets their gaze evenly. Unlike some of the others, they aren't so easily cowed. Interesting. He wonders whether any of them might be mages—just sizing them up for a moment tells him they would be challenging pupils. 

"You'll have to excuse them," Fjord tells him. "They aren't used to seeing drow around the Coast."

"And I am not used to seeing children," Essek says.

"You're in an orphanage," one of them says, and it's Caleb's turn to chuckle.

"Ah, very astute."

"If you'd like to listen, you may, _quietly_ ," Fjord says. "Otherwise, please close the door on your way out, thank you."

They choose the latter, likely to continue to spy from outside the door, and Essek waves a hand quickly and closes his eyes. Behind his eyelids, magic glitters around Fjord's being, particularly in his hands, where Essek has seen swords sprout and life spring with healing, and on several items on himself and Caleb, but also... yes, outside the door, a hint of it on at least one of the children.

"Hmph," he exhales. "So at least one of them is a mage."

"How did you know that?" comes the muffled shout, almost immediately, and Fjord rolls his eyes. 

"Yes, and if you'd like to take them off my hands..." he mutters darkly, but there is too much fondness in his eyes for it to be anything but love. "In any case, Caleb, I think... regardless of your concerns, you will be doing the thing that you have wanted to work toward, and you cannot possibly ruin children nearly as much as you were ruined. You have their best intentions at heart, and not only what they might do for you."

"How can you be sure?" Caleb asks, finally setting the mending aside and folding his hands in his lap. 

"Because if you didn't have good intentions, you would not be sitting here in my office, fretting over a hypothetical."

"We also would not have spent the energy to transport here," Essek adds, a ribbing comment, but Fjord only gestures toward him as though he's made a good point. The child in his arms has all but fallen asleep, the novelty of these guests finally worn off, and he barely seems to notice as he rocks gently back and forth.

"Yes, you certainly don't teleport here to say hello, for a cup of tea."

Caleb sputters. "You seem busy! I wouldn't want to intrude—"

Fjord laughs, and waves him off. "I'm only joking. But you can come to visit anytime you feel so inclined. Speaking of which, you are both quite welcome to stay the night."

"Oh, we wouldn't want to impose—"

Fjord leans forward and cuts him off. "I was thinking you might benefit from, you know, seeing how this place operates for a little while. I think it'd be a good primer on the job you've been offered."

"We would not be teaching magic to infants," Essek points out.

"No, but that means that yours is easier. Besides," Fjord chuckles, "yours go home for holidays. Mine do not." He adjusts the child when she fusses with barely a thought, and she settles into the crook of his arm again, a bubble of snot at one nostril. Essek cringes. "So, what say you? Would you care to stay the night? I should probably get to some work, before the day ends, if you would like to meander."

Essek looks to Caleb for a cue; this is, after all, his task. Though it would be easy enough to return to their home within a few moments, if there is something to be gained here, some insight that may sway Caleb to a confident affirmative answer, it would be worth it to take the bit of time they will spend here.

Caleb runs both hands over his face, the mending in his lap forgotten. Gently, Essek takes it from him and starts to finish the stitching along the unraveled hem. 

Watching his nimble fingers—used to spellwork enough that a simple, repetitive movement such as this, if not usual, comes at least without significant trouble—Caleb nods. "I think that would be nice."

—

By the time they retire to an empty staff room, the storm has properly taken over the building, wind whistling over the roof above them, windows now shut tight, glass bombarded with the heavy rain. 

Essek's spine curls into Caleb's chest as the human drifts off to sleep; Essek will not sleep for a while longer, a book in one hand to pass the time, the enchanted lamp on the table dimmed just enough for him to read by while Caleb rests. It's a comfortable, familiar routine, and though Essek was concerned that falling asleep here might pose a problem, the sound of the rain and Caleb's warm breath on his shoulder is threatening to lull him to rest already, the words swimming on the page in front of him.

"This is a very strange place," he murmurs, and Caleb hums in response.

"Ja, many people," he mumbles. "I think I am growing too used to solitude."

The last time Essek lived in a place with this many people, it was growing up among Den Thelyss in the Bastion, surrounded by cold adults, too wise to pay him much mind until he started displaying a talent for the arcane, and then too interested in what he could do to care about who he was. He was nobody, after all; he would have to prove himself first, and by the time he had, it was he who had grown cold.

"I am afraid that is my fault," he sighs, and closes the book, setting it gently on the bedside table before he turns over to meet Caleb's eyes. Caleb presses his brow to Essek's, and shakes his head, but Essek continues. "If you sought solitude when we moved, I embraced it because it was familiar. I have not lived in a place like this, and... I am sorry, for assuming that was what you wanted, and was not simply a wish for a temporary change."

"I... I don't think I realized," Caleb admits. "I didn't know that a space like this was, well, something I lacked. But you are... you prefer it, being alone."

"I have never known anything else," Essek says, with a mirthless chuckle. "I certainly did not prefer solitude once I met you."

"Embracing the company of a few friends is very different than an entire school of children and teachers."

"Perhaps that is true." Essek runs slender fingers down Caleb's cheekbones, and presses his lips to Caleb's nose. "But I think you will not be able to live with yourself if you don't do this, and I think... I think it will be good for both of us. A different kind of adventure."

"Ja," Caleb murmurs, his eyes shut from sleep now, his voice foggy as the night outside as Essek kisses his brow in a soft goodnight. "A new adventure."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Also, want to send you over to read all of freckledmccree's [orphanage headmaster Fjord shenanigans](https://freckledmccree.tumblr.com/tagged/Orphanage-Headmaster-Fjord-shenanigans), because inspiration for this came from her!


End file.
